Alix broke—and Nick threw the right hand, on the break.
Foul? Of course, but Alix went down, his senses numb, his mind turning black. He lay on his face, not moving, the blackness moving through his body.
What's this God like? It would depend upon who you ask. They ever tell you what He looks like? The blackness turned red, the red of blood, running in the streets. And there was suddenly a cross, and a dim figure and he heard Willie's sonorous, "Five, six—"
He turned over at seven, was on one knee at eight and up at nine. And Nick came bulling in, both hands ready.
The bell.
He got to his corner without Manny's help. The magic of Manny's hands dug at his neck, bringing clarity. The ice, the other handler probing at his flaccid legs.
"I saw a cross, Manny."
"Nobody's crossing us, Alix. Don't think, Alix. Here." He gave him the water bottle.
Alix rinsed his mouth, and spit it out. "He's rough, Manny. He knows all the tricks."
"Don't you?"